Sancta Mater
by youarenothingtome
Summary: The rivers run scarlet with the blood of the fallen. The cult of Herobrine has been extinguished by the blades of justice, obliterated by fate. Amethyst tells the story of the fall of the great cult of Herobrine from her point of view as a once great and prosperous leader. She explains it's rise and it's eventual death. Rated T for adult themes. Rating may go up in the future.
1. Prologue, Day 50 & Day 1

**A/N: So, the story begins. Feedback would be much appreciated, thanks. I'm not too worried about how this goes, I'm more interested in what people think of it. Thank you to everyone who reads this, please enjoy!**

DAY 50

It was a fine day in Minecraftia; the sun gifted its glimmering light upon the land, the birds carolled their melodies, the wind caressed the trees in a silent whisper. The world seemed to be still — animals grazed on the bountiful fields of grass, insects hummed a chorus. But the world seemed to be unmoving, lifeless. Unnaturally so.

The rivers ran scarlet with the blood of the fallen.

The defeat of the great cult of Herobrine would have been a significant event, if not for the death of all witnesses and participants. Now, any allude to the cult or the gathering of Herobrine's disciples, are just whispers told by wary storytellers in the dark to frighten youths from ever entering the Plains of the Disciples.

Once, barely hours ago, it thrived. People _feared_ us. People knew of us.

I, Amethyst of House Ravensheath, birthed this clan, this _cult_ , from the purity of light. It was only through true corruption it eventually succumbed to darkness under the shadowed, unforgiving wings of fate.

The House of the Disciples of Herobrine lays destroyed before me. I feel the heat of the flames upon my face and I cannot bring myself to weep at the great losses of my people. This place had died long, long ago - extensively before I could even realise what was to befall the clan.

I watch as the ceiling finally crashes in the fires, the wood groaning, weakened by the flames. I flinch at the sudden flying rubble and the cloud of dust it emits as it impacts with the ground with a roaring crash and I wheeze and cough through the haze of ash and dirt, doing my best to watch as the building burns in the flames of justice.

I don't know whether I should be mourning the end of a glorious era or celebrating the beginning of a new life.

Although there is to be no new life for me, that, I can say with confidence.

I hear footsteps behind me through the blazing flames. I don't need to turn around to know who it is. A moment of silence passes and I can hear grief-filled breaths, thick with unwept tears.

"You've taken this too far. I can't let you walk this world any longer, Amethyst."

I hear the ring of steel and I feel the point of a sword tickle the back of my neck and whilst a part of me feels dread at the sensation, the other part only knows acceptance.

"Take my life, Axel. It will only be another gift to our eternal God," I say. It was an invitation, not a statement. I feel tears prickle my eyes and only the courage I no longer had could prevent them from falling. I was blackened with sin.

"So be it, Amethyst." His voice was pained. Cracked. I could hear his tears in his throat, and I felt my own roll down my cheeks in small rivulets.

The sword plunged through my neck with surprising ease and despite the blinding pain and the winding shock that came along with it, one final line of devotion was croaked from my mouth as I fell to my knees, weakened, choking on the gushing blood:

"Long live the great God, Herobrine, and may I hold his guiding hand in the land of the Nether."

—

DAY 1

The moon is at its highest point in the sky.

A woman stalks across the plains.

She is the embodiment of night, cloaked by the prowess of the wind. She glides like a fox, her metal tipped bow glinting in the night. She is a creature of subtlety, of darkness.

She is Stray.

Her hood hides secrets, her path tells stories.

She stares as she sights man with a pack trudging past in the close distance, knee deep in the marsh. He is trespassing on private property and she frowns. She will not allow this.

"State your business, passerby," she calls out, approaching him fast. She nooks an arrow, taking pleasure in the sound of the bow creaking as it is pulled taut. The poor man she aims it upon falls to solid ground in terror, dropping his pack with a crash. Birds take flight in disturbance in a flurry of wings, shattering the hum of nightly insects.

"I-I'm sorry! Please, I mean no harm!" he stammers, waving his hands in defence from his position on the ground.

Stray aims her bow upon him, her arrowhead pointed just between his eyes. He yelps, shaking.

"I said: _state your business,_ " she snarled.

"Ok, ok!" he stutters, "I'm a merchant, looking for the city of, uhh.. Is it Quetzal? The city of Quetzal?" he asks inquisitively. Stray nods, beckoning him to continue.

"I-I just want to sell my goods here! I heard that the price rate is fair, and that—"

He is suddenly interrupted by Stray cancelling her shot, sheathing her bow and grabbing his hand-spun shirt, pulling him up with surprising strength.

He shook with fear, silent aside from his laboured breathing appearing before his face under the cool of the moonlight.

Stray pulls him close with a creak of leather and he whimpers, swallowing.

"You listen here; the city of Quetzal doesn't let everyone in. It's highly fortified and if you pose as a threat," she paused, shrugging indifferently, "You would be _dead in moment_."

She let go of him, turning away. He falls to the ground, sputtering.

"You, I think," Stray says, "I can control. Don't make any moves on me and you'll stay alive."

He looked up from his position on the ground at Stray and gave a hopeful smile.

"So I can come?" he asked carefully. Stray rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you can come. There are no promises you can stay, though."

She pursed her lips, pausing in her speech and the merchant picked himself up, wiping off the mud accumulated on his clothing.

"We have become desperate for new trade here so I am placing a lot of trust in you, merchant."

He nodded solemnly, sighing through his nostrils.

"I promise I can be of use."

The journey to Quetzal was spent in silence. The merchant attempted to make several conversation starters, but he received no replies. He prayed that visiting Quetzal was worth all of this.

He was young, but old enough to understand the land despite his naïvety. He had just taken up the trade of merchantry, eager to follow in his father's wealthy footsteps.

Mere hours before sunrise, they approached a pier. A small row-boat was attached by a rope, bobbing on the soft waves. An island could just be seen in the near distance, shrouded by the fog of the swamp. The scent of reeds permeated the air.

"Get in the boat and start rowing," Stray commanded. The merchant sighed in defeat and gingerly stepped into the water, climbing into the tethered boat, careful to not rock it too hard as to not fall into the cool water. Stray followed suit, standing at the end rather than sitting. Her bow was ready in hand, arrow drawn.

Several minutes were spent rowing towards the island in silence. The sun was nearly peaking at the edge of the horizon, sending beautiful colours of orange and red over the water's surface. Birds awoke, chirping in the trees back at shore.

"I need your name for passage, traveller," Stray said, breaking the quiet between them. It was more of a statement than a question, but it was obvious she wasn't going to accept silence for an answer. The merchant paused in his rowing, pausing for breath, before replying.

"Ethan — My name, that is. I'm from the Northern Reaches," he breathed, wiping his brow in exhaustion. "My father raised me in the big city of Vertoak."

Stray raised a brow beneath her hood. He had travelled extremely far, even for her standards.

"You are to be a step behind me at all times until you are permitted by the Overseer to walk free within the base," she stated. Ethan nodded through his rowing, nervous. He really couldn't ruin this for himself — he had no where else to go after coming this far — especially with news of of feral humans on the loose craving flesh.

They were drawn to shore by guardsmen waiting upon the beach of the island, adorned in glistening armour streaked with gold paint. He felt both safe and intimidated.

"Welcome back, Stray. Who is this?" one asked as he pulled the rope restraining the boat to the shore taut.

"A merchant. He's no harm, don't worry."

Quetzal was more of a military base than a city, Ethan soon came to learn. It was underground; the entrance was a deep, deep tunnel only navigated by ladder. Citizens ran around in full armour, weapons at the hip, as they were sent on missions to aid villages and people outside the reaches of the plains. The strong smell of iron working was thick in the air and there was constant chatter, despite the late — or, in this case, early hour.

As instructed, he stayed one step behind Stray, trembling under the looks of the warriors and people of power walking past as they navigated the stone hallways.

They eventually came upon a door reinforced by iron. Stray raised a fist and knocked upon it. A moment passed before a voice called out, "Come in!"

There was a click as the door was unlocked and the two entered, Stray respectively pulling off her hood to reveal a mess of brown hair and piercing, black eyes. She looked stern even with the hood off, Ethan mused.

Two women stood inside, one lounged at a desk and one at a standing map at the other end of the room, marking locations with flags. Golden banners were tied around their waists and Ethan figured they must be the Overseers of Quetzal. The air of authority told him as much.

The one at the desk smiled in greeting, gesturing him to take a seat in the wooden chair before the desk. Stray took his pack from his back, placing it to the side of the room and out of the way. About time, he thought as he flexed his sore back.

"Welcome to Quetzal. I am Eagle," she bowed, "and this is Tiger. Excuse the names — it's easier to give out false ones until we know you can be trusted." She gave an apologetic smile and Ethan grinned back. This one was far more hospitable than his escort. She stood.

"Would you like a drink, traveller?" she asked, walking over to the bench behind her.

He sighed breathlessly, "Gods, yes," he said. He felt like he was about to collapse from dehydration after his long, hard journey.

As she poured him a glass of wine, she continued.

"I see you have met Stray. She is our eyes and ears here, as you may have noticed. Was she kind to you?" Eagle asked, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder.

"Oh - Oh, yes, of course," Ethan replied politely. Eagle laughed mirthfully.

"We both know that isn't true, but don't worry about it — here. Hopefully this wine will quench your thirst."

She placed the glass on the desk before him and he instantly put it to his lips. Eagle took a seat again, getting comfortable.

"Now," she said, leaning back, "what is your business here in Quetzal?"

"I'm here to trade. I have many rare goods from afar I trust that your people will benefit from."

This time, it was Tiger who spoke up.

"That's what they all say."

Eagle put up a hand to silence her.

"Things like what?" she asked inquisitively, eyebrow raised.

"Things like old texts, hard to find forge materials, herbs for medical supplies, etcetera. Need I say more?" Ethan proudly bragged. He was sure to make money off of these people.

Eagle sighed through her nose, considering this option. These trading items could prove beneficial to the people of Quetzal. Tiger would not agree, but it was worth a shot.

"You can stay here for one week," Eagle told him. She put up a single digit, " _One_."

"Ethan involuntarily let out a sigh of relief, slumping in his seat. Eagle chuckled and Tiger rolled her eyes.

"You seem exhausted," Eagle said, "Why don't you bring him to a guest room, Stray?"

"Of course, Overseer," Stray complied. "Follow me," she said.

Ethan nodded his head in both farewell and thanks and tossed his bag onto his back again albeit reluctantly. He was very excited to just lay down and sleep.

Stray directed him through several long stone hallways lit by redstone until they eventually arrived in the guest wing. They stopped outside room number seven, the furthest in the wing and she pulled a key from her belt and unlocked the door. She held they key before him.

"If this key gets lost, I will have your head," she warned. Ethan nodded frantically. Stray delicately. placed the key into his hand.

He bid her goodnight and Stray was off down the hall again with a flurry of her cloak. Her strong footsteps echoed down the hall and he waited until it was silent before he entered his room, locking the door behind him with a click of the key.

The room was fairly lavish, complete with a warm looking bed and interesting paintings upon the walls. Redstone lamps lit the room, bolted within the walls. Despite its small size, it seemed quite welcoming.

Ethan sighed. He was finally alone.

He carefully laid out the contents of his pack upon the floor before him, taking great care as to not damage anything. Some old books, dried petals, rare foods, strange metals and an odd codex he had picked up from another trader in exchange for food. It was a curious object, he hadn't bothered to read it yet and he didn't really care to.

He decided to do something about that tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted.

Yawning, he climbed into the lush bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Living underground was terribly cold. He dreamed of nice travels and lots of money in a world where he had everything he could possibly want. If only that was to be in the tragedy that pursues him next.


	2. Day 2

DAY 2

—

I had grown up in Quetzal, an underground city of a diverse and large population from birth and when new people arrive, it truly is a blessing.

When I heard that a new merchant was in the city the day before, I nearly whooped for joy. It had been many months since a trader had come by to visit — my purse was filled with unspent coins and aside from items I'd taken from above ground, there were few new things in my room.

I rolled out of bed and put on my most practical clothing for a day of running around doing errands and tied my dark hair into a plait. I washed my face from the water in my basin, refreshing me, and watered the dying plants scattered about my room with the remaining water.

Bare minutes after I had awoken and dressed, I went on an adventure to find Stray so she could let me know which room he was holed up in. I was determined to meet this new person at all costs. It was very rare I was permitted to meet new people as travelling past the territory of the city was extremely taxing and dangerous with the 'zombie' outbreak spreading across the lands.

I jogged through the halls of Quetzal, careful as to not bump anyone along the way, keeping my eye out for Stray and her gold streaked leather cloak. I saw families, children, workers. They all waved as I ran past and I smiled back; this place was blessed with neighbourly care. We were all hand in hand, we appreciated each other.

I never forgot how privileged I was living in such a caring, kind society.

I entered the old 'park', one of the few underground rooms complete with grass and trees, where finally found Stray, perched upon the edge of a stone statue, picking at her nails in a reserved, still position. She seemed nonchalant as always and I laughed to myself.

"Good morning, Stray!" I beamed, my voice shrill in the cool air of the underground. She perked up, hood falling back. She smiled when she saw me, leaping gracefully from her perch, her cape fluttering with the rush of air. She put her hands on her hip and grinned wider and I trotted over to her.

We hugged, and she held me at the shoulders, smirking broadly.

"Hello, Amethyst. What brings you all the way out here?" she asked. She fell into my step and we began to walk back the way I came towards the town square.

"I heard that a merchant is here, yes?" I said, smiling at her. Her kind expression faltered.

"His name's Ethan. I found him wandering the plains. He was clearly lost," she rolled her eyes, "so I brought him here."

I grinned wider — she _did_ know about the merchant.

"Will you take me to him?" I giggled, nudging into her. She sighed in defeat. I _really_ needed to spend all of this pent up money I had collected over the months. I was dying for more things in my room other than withering plants and bland paintings.

She pursed her lips, looking at me.

"He'll be in the town square, most likely. He looks like a money hoarder, so don't spend all of your gold there, Amethyst," she warned, looking into my eyes. I sighed, cupping her shoulder in my hand.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be careful."

When I saw what this merchant who called himself 'Ethan' had to offer, I nearly spent all my coin in a second. Ancient texts, expert concoctions, even coloured inks and parchment. What really caught my eye, though, was the odd codex he had to his side.

It was leather bound, of course, but with burnt emblems melted into it. It was thick with knowledge and looked as if it held the secrets of the world with its clear age of old.

What really stood out to me, though, was the author:

Sancta of House Ravensheath.

At that moment I knew that I had to be in possession of that strange, intriguing book. I made my decision in a moment.

"I want that one," I said, pointing a pale finger to the codex. He grinned deviously and I knew I had to be prepared for a strong barter. The book wasn't going to go easily.

"Seventy golden coins for that one, please," he smugly replied, hands behind his back. I scoffed.

"That old book is _hardly_ worth that much money."

"Oh, it is," the merchant said. He picked it up, dusting it off as if it were some old relic.

"It is made from the finest leather in all of Minecraftia, it has the deepest secrets no one could even _imagine_." He made a motion to hold it before me temptingly and I scowled. At that price? Not a chance.

"I won't buy it all then," I said.

Then, he looked desperate. He was obviously not one to accept failure. He leant over his trading table, nearly squishing the rest of his wares and knocking over an inkwell as I began to walk away and I smirked in success as he sputtered and gasped.

"Wait!" he yelled and I turned around, my hair curling around my shoulder. Several heads turned to look at him and he flushed with embarrassment.

"What?" I innocently remarked.

"H-How about fifty gold? I really need to get rid of this, no one has bought it, well, _anywhere_ ," he stammered. I sighed. What an _idiot_. No wonder it didn't sell at such a ridiculous price.

"Forty-five," I duelled.

He groaned in defeat, his smug demeanour completely vanished at this point. I felt like laughing. What luck!

"Fine — just give me the gold, please," he said. I snorted at his impoliteness, but handed him the coin anyway. I would have Stray deal with him later.

He handed me the codex. It was surprisingly heavy in my hands, its leather was soft to the touch and the pages were firm and crisp on the edges. I didn't bother thanking him as I turned on my heels away from the stand. I took a few steps away, not really paying attention as I moved my hand to open it and —

Clanging through my ears and aching my brain a storm, warning bells rang throughout the courtyard and everyone, from children to adults paused at what they were doing, no matter the situation. Everyone looked up to the ladder in the centre that led above ground, simultaneously knowing that the threat was above. It always was, I thought.

It was suddenly dead silent. Dread filled my stomach and I swallowed through the lump of fear in my throat, the book loose in my fingers. I could almost feel Ethan's questioning gaze behind me.

There was a booming crash above ground and the cavern shook, people falling to their knees. Explosives, I realised, and a shocked hand flew to my mouth, my eyebrows creasing in worry. It was still surprisingly quiet despite the chaos, save from the occasional cry of fear at the incessant shaking of the ground.

Suddenly, all was still. Several terrified moments passed.

There was a strangled cry from upstairs and a collective gasp as something unknown rattled down the ladder. It dropped into the centre of the square.

With a crash, what could only be described as a _body_ completely and utterly mutilated was thrown from the ladder to the floor. It was a dead guard, the light lost from his eyes and the movement gone from his body. Blood gargled out of his mouth and spurted from the cavity, no _hole,_ in his chest. The red liquid seeped like rivulets from the corpse and through the chiseled edges of the stone floor.

A moment of realisation passed upon everyone, their eyes wide with shock and mouths slack jawed in absolute terror.

Everyone simultaneously looked up as several guards — not guards, I very quickly realised, but _raiders,_ rough and in different states of defence and skill — dropped down the ladders, screaming war cries that chilled me to my bones.

Terrible, terrible havoc ensued.

Through the screams and haze of smoke from fire and explosions that the raiders must have used to infiltrate the city, I witnessed the death that befell Quetzal.

I watched as they destroyed everything in their path. Their swords plunged through the innocent. They sparked people on fire. Some even had whips, shocking people to the ground where they'd be trampled by the running civilians.

These horrible people not only intended to wipe us out, but they intended to bring pain with them.

The armour and robes on their backs adorned a great blue orb, symbolising their clan.

Ethan, the merchant I had just spoken to, was dragged into the fray by a warrior man in full armour and had his throat slit, blood dribbling sluggishly out of the new orifice in his neck as he collapsed to the ground, eyes rolled to the back of his head.

I was so scared, so terribly afraid, I found myself frozen where I stood. A hand gripping my shirt pulled me out of my stupor and I shrieked, batting my hand not gripping the book into whatever had just taken hold of me. They held fast and a dry sob escaped my mouth when I realised I had no hope of escaping. The heat of flames surrounded me as the merchant table behind me caught aflame.

I opened my eyes and was relieved to find it was only Stray and my fretting ceased. Her daggers were slick with blood and her bow was unsheathed and I felt fear well in my chest at the thought of her slaughtering who opposed her.

Had she been trying to prevent them from entering? Or had she been down here, battling them as they poured in one by one?

Through the screams and swordplay, I could barely hear her voice yelling at me to leave, to get out. She looked deep into my eyes and I felt tears in them as I looked back at her. She groaned in annoyance at my unresponsiveness and she pulled me to my feet.

We raced down the halls, side by side, for the second time that day.

I saw dead bodies piled upon the ground, some burnt, some barely alive, some mutilated beyond belief. I felt the tears roll down my cheeks as I cried, hindering my breathing, her hand suddenly in mine as she dragged me through the hallways.

A raider, screaming bloody murder, threw himself between us as we turned a corner, wielding a scimitar. Although he lacked armour, the experience that burned in his ferocious eyes would make any fighter cower. He roared as he thrust it towards me and I prepared myself for unimaginable agony in a second, recoiling against the wall. The pain did not come.

Stray used her bow to parry, kicking him in the stomach with a grunt and he yelped in pain as he crashed against the opposite wall. In that minuscule moment of being stunned, Stray dropped her bow to the floor and unsheathed her dagger, impaling it into his stomach in a singular swift movement. He wheezed a groan, sliding to the floor. Stray's robes were slick with blood.

One bloodied hand snatched the bow from the floor and the other gripped my pale one and we ran, leaving the body behind.

Soon, the chambers were empty. The raiders hadn't quite made there way down this far yet and the people were either in the centre or dead, so it made running a lot easier than it was before.

Eventually, the maze of stone hallways ended. An iron reinforced door stood before us and I believed all hope to us was lost until Stray's hands flew to her belt in realisation. She had the keys on her.

Stray pulled her keyring from her belt with nimble hands and spent several moments sifting through them as quick as her muscles could handle, searching for the right one. I inwardly begged her to hurry on as my ears picked up distant cries, reverberated around the stone walls, coming closer and closer. I could see the orange tinge of firelight at the end of the hall and I shuddered in fear.

She picked the right one and shoved it into the keyhole of the iron door before us. Relief filled me as it clicked open and we pushed it open with as much might as we could muster, grunting with the effort. I cringed as the metal screamed against the stone floor and the battle cries at the end of the hall picked up. We heaved it shut once we were inside and Stray locked it.

A great, old stone staircase stood before us, mossy with age. It looked almost crumbly and uncertainty replaced dread.

I didn't even have time to think before she grabbed my hand once more and I was forced to comply as we raced up the staircase before us. I looked up through my running. It seemed to never end.

By the time I neared the top, my heart was in my throat and I was so lacking of air that I felt as if I was going to vomit. My lungs burned with overuse and I could barely keep my eyes open with exhaustion. Stray seemed to be faring much better, but even from her I could hear the struggled, laboured breathing from our exertion.

I could see a metal trapdoor shrouded by moss and grass growing through from the surface at the top of the long, long hike and we picked up our pace in hope. The war cries from below had ceased, they hadn't been able to make it through the door, but it was only a matter of time before they raced to the surface and found us. Time was limited.

Thankfully, this time, no lock was required and yelling with the effort of the incredible weight, Stray pushed the metal slab open. Light poured down like the hair of the angels and I found my retinas unable to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light as I heaved myself onto the ground above with shaking arms, coughing.

I gripped the soft, green grass in my fingers as I coughed and heaved for air. My eyes still refused to adjust to the burning light and I buried my face into the soil for relief. I could hear Stray not far from me in a similar situation to myself, rasping, collapsed onto the ground.

I felt a small laugh weave its way out of my throat through the agony of breathing at the narrow escape and all of a sudden solace washed over me as the melodies of the birds rang in my ears. My hand that wasn't buried in the grass ghosted over the leather of the book which had stayed with me through the taxing events that had just taken place.

I sighed at the feeling of the sun on my limbs after being underground for so long.

Deciding that my eyes had adjusted to the relentless light, I squinted open my eyes. I turned my head toward the ocean scented wind that caressed my face.

We had travelled so far underground that we had crossed the span of water separating the island from the mainland; the trapdoor was just beside the pier, simply covered by the shore's stones which had been pushed off once it was opened. No wonder Stray had difficulty opening the door. It was suddenly no surprise that I was completely and utterly spent from exhaustion.

With extreme difficulty, I stood. I shook as I gained my balance.

Bodies of both raiders and guards littered the ground around me.

Grief gripped me as I could see the corpse of Tiger slumped over the pier and Eagle's body gently floating in the water, unmoving. The water was maroon with blood.

At that moment, I knew that Quetzal was no longer to be. I was homeless, and along with Stray, likely one of the last survivors. I sobbed, falling to my knees, ignoring the pain of the shore pebbles digging into them. I dropped the book to the stones before me as I wept into my hands.

They had died defending their home, their people. They had failed. Quetzal was lost to us.

I looked to the book before my knees. It begged me to open it.

After all of this chaos, this terrible happening, why not? I had literally nothing to lose at this point.

Tears still rolling down my cheeks, I shifted into a cross-legged position and gently picked it up, dusting it off. I placed it into my lap and opened it, relishing the satisfying crinkle of pages as it was pried apart by my fingers.

It was surprised to find it elegantly written in beautiful calligraphy handwriting, complete with archaic illustrations and colourful ink. Few books of this time were written in coherent language rather than written neatly.

I decided to read the first page aloud in my wavering voice in an attempt to calm me;

" _Betrayed and shunned by the Gods, He is dictated below,_

 _Forced into hellish place known as thy Nether,_

 _Thou art to bow to mine words,_

 _Snarl at oppressors,_

 _Pray to thy God, who is He, the birther of new worlds, of new life_

 _He, who is Herobrine._ "

I felt the breath leave my body. I had heard little about this 'God', this creature of Hell. He was the devil of all devils and although most knew about him, little knew enough to give more information of that. I was curious, though, sickeningly enough; it was almost a sick fascination. I flipped to the next page. This page was written in more modern language, although it was still archaic in nature. This only intrigued me further. An image of clouds over crops was drawn. A creature surrounded in an orange glow was sketched beneath, eyes closed and hands together in prayer.

" _And the tears of the terrible Gods above feed those below, on the ground,_

 _Bringing promise to lands and crops._

 _Bringing hope to the people._

 _When it is in fact He, the true God, the tears are directed to._

 _In an attempt to extinguish the fires of His fair rage, His just fury._

 _He, long ago, prevented them from seeping past the surface and into his domain._

 _It was He, the birther of new worlds, of new life, who brings promise to lands and crops._

 _Who brings hope to the people of the surface land._

 _He has been shunned and mistreated._

 _So rain upon the land, terrible Gods, at this command, this moment,_

 _Feed the weak, tend to the poor at the hand of Herobrine._ "

Moments passed and I half hoped, half expected it to rain at the command and I sighed. Nothing. Wind caressed my hair and flickered at the pages of the book and I snapped it shut. It was a book. It wasn't going to 'cause rain' or anything.

I could hear Stray approach from the bushes behind me. She stood there for a moment. I didn't turn to look at her. She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I then looked at her, my eyes red from tears.

I was pleased to see that she had washed the blood off of her clothing as well as she could, able to wipe it off the leather but unable to clean it out of her robes. She was less unsightly, at least.

Her hood covered her face once more and I could barely see it under the sudden shade that had appeared, obscuring the sun. The wind picked up again and her cloak flew. I was about to ask her to put her hood back so I could see her face, when I felt a droplet of water hit my head. In sudden shock, I looked up. Water began to pitter patter from the sky and I held my free hand out, slack-jawed. This could not be possible. It was a coincidence, I told myself.

Within moments, it had gone from a drizzle to fully fledged rain and Stray pulled up the edge of her cloak to cover me from the sudden change in weather. I was too stunned to really notice. I cared more about the cryptic book than me at this point so I buried it between us as we ran for cover.

Lightning ripped across the sky and thunder rolled the ground in a furious rage and the sudden rain became a strong storm.

We sighted an old, weed-overgrown shack in the distance and we sprinted across the short plain towards it, with short but renewed strength, jostling open the door before we were to be struck by lightning from being in the open. We stumbled inside, dripping from the wet.

We were partially pleased and partially disappointed to find that it was completely abandoned and reeked of old wood, ivy growing even within the cabin. Cobwebs lined the arched ceiling.

An old, mushy and in all likelihood mouldy bed sat in the corner and a chair-less table stood in the other end of the single room. A fireplace was built into the wall in the centre and Stray kneeled on the moth-eaten mat in the middle, working on lighting the small pile of kindling within the hearth. I gently placed the book on the table, listening to the rain drum on the misty windows.

Thoughts reeled in my mind that I may have caused this storm by reading a _verse from a book_. Not only that, but it was the middle of Spring — it simply _didn't_ storm. Never.

I felt nauseous with the simple idea and I found myself sitting on the bed to calm my dizzying head.

Stray noticed and she stood, placing a comforting hand on my arm.

"You get some sleep. You need it. I'll stay on watch in case any raiders tracked us out here."

I found myself unable to reply with all the thoughts racing through my head and I dumbly nodded, lying down on the lumpy bed. What had possibly been the worst day of my entire life had almost passed and I decided that I would deal with the aftermath the following day with fulfilled energy and hopefully a more peaceful mind.

I shut my eyes, determined to read more of the strange book.


End file.
